


All our Issues

by otherhawk



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Five Hargreeves is projecting, Five Hargreeves loves his siblings, Food Issues, Gen, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Luther Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Post Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, the apocalypse is a big deal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherhawk/pseuds/otherhawk
Summary: After they stop the apocalypse the siblings return to normal life, leaving Five, Klaus, Luther and Ben together in the Academy, trying to figure out how to live with themselves, each other, and all their many issues. They're going to do this together. Eventually, anyway.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Ben Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves, The Hargreeves Family
Comments: 11
Kudos: 109





	All our Issues

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of the first part of a fic or possibly series that I have a lot planned for. There's two more chapters in this part and then we shall see.

Five was not prone to fits of irrationality. He really wasn’t. The three months of preserved food and bottled water he kept stored in the Academy’s lower levels was a perfectly sensible precaution. The custom built bunker on the outskirts of the cities with supplies to keep seven people safe for decades – even more so. There were far more potential apocalypse triggers out there than just his baby sister; asteroid impact, nuclear war, global warming, super volcano – no matter what he would see his family safe.

Sensible, rational precautions. That’s all it was. But that didn't help when he woke up to silence, eyes straining into the darkness, his academy-issued pyjamas tight around his throat and a vast, aching emptiness deep inside of himself. He didn't know what time it was. Night, probably, or at least there wasn't any light coming through the blinds. If he drew them aside what would he see? A living city, or an apocalyptic wasteland? It was ridiculous, but he couldn't bring himself to check – that would just be giving in to his paranoia.

He reached for the bottle of water by his bed and caught a glimpse of his hands. They were wrong. Still. Too small, too smooth, too clean. There should be cracks, deeply engrained with dirt and ash and blood. It wasn't right that he'd lived his life but wasn't wearing it. He finished the water and threw the bottle aside, not caring about the noise – Luther could sleep through anything, Ben didn't sleep, and Klaus' room had been soundproofed since they were six.

He had to get more water. There were still a couple of bottles in his room, but he'd rather not drink them until he had to. Better to go down to the kitchen, maybe there would even be someone around. He could do with a distraction, and it wasn't like anyone in this house kept regular hours.

There was no one obviously on the ground floor. Maybe Ben was around, but if so he wasn't corporeal enough to make himself known. Hmph. Maybe he should just start saying 'hi' every time he walked into an empty room just in case his dead brother was there. It wasn't like he could be spending all of his time by Klaus' side, much as Five loved his siblings he didn't think he could stand _anyone's_ company constantly. Besides, it would be another reason to talk out loud, and that was always good; he hated talking to himself but if he didn't say anything for a few months he tended to find himself suffering from more panic attacks than usual... and that wouldn't be a problem. Because it was 2019, the apocalypse was averted and he was living in the academy with three of his brothers so someone was inevitably going to talk to him within the next few days, and when they did he could answer because they were _real_ and _alive_ and not isolation-induced hallucinations. 

He headed to the kitchen, intent on getting something to drink and fixing himself a snack, but when he opened the kitchen cabinet he found himself looking at So. Much. Food. Cans and packets and bags, and he hadn't seen this much in one place for years, and it was all pristine, all for the taking, and he was grabbing it in huge, greedy armfuls, stuffing soup cans and bags of rice into his shirt before he'd even realised what he was doing.

This was stupid. He was being stupid. This wasn't the apocalypse, there was plenty of food and this was their kitchen. The food could, should, stay here, it was safe, it would still be here in the morning – he should put it back. He should just...put it back.

He heard footsteps somewhere and he flinched and jumped upstairs, hugging a jar of peanut butter tight to his chest and trying to remember how to breathe.

  
  


*

It was him, Luther, Klaus and Ben living in the Academy these days and none of them left. It wasn't like they had anything they needed to do, so mostly Five spent his time drifting from room to room, drinking or reading or both. He slept when he got too tired to stay awake any more and ate when he felt hungry, so it wasn't unusual for him to not see the others for days at a time. And yet somehow, when he next wandered into the kitchen everyone was there, Luther seemingly cooking while Klaus sat cross-legged on the kitchen table, staring at a glass of water and talking to the apparently empty chair beside him.

Five made himself a coffee and sat as far from the others as he could.

“There’s food missing,” Luther announced slamming the kitchen cabinets shut.

If Five didn’t feel guilty for President Kennedy then there was absolutely no reason for him to feel guilty now. He told himself that but he didn’t quite believe it. “Maybe someone ate it,” he suggested dryly.

Luther gave him a look. “There’s only the three of us living here –“

“ – four – “ Klaus cut in without looking away from the water. “Sorry, alright, thank you, Ben, six with Grace and Pogo.”

“Grace and Ben don’t eat and Pogo has his own kitchen,” Luther said, jaw set, arms folded across his chest. “There’s more food gone than the three of us could eat.”

Five didn’t say anything, just stared blankly at Luther, hoping to be intimidating enough to keep him from getting to the point.

“Maybe the Horror got hungry in the middle of the night,” Klaus suggested. “I mean, how long’s it been since they got to rip someone limb from limb? Maybe the Bentacles are pigging out on chips instead.” His hands glowed blue for a second and the glass of water lifted a few wobbly inches into the air. He cheered. “Yes! Way to go, Ben!”

Predictably the glass wobbled a little too far and then dropped, smashing across the table and spilling down across the floor. Grateful for an excuse, Five sighed and jumped out of the room in search of a mop.

*

It happened again. And again. And, as much as he tried to tell himself that he was still taking precautions, just establishing strategic caches around his territory, he knew that this crossed the line into paranoia. He didn't need a supply of food, water and medicine in every room of the academy, and yet any room he spent more than an hour or so in he found himself finding a suitable hiding spot and stashing things away _just in case,_ just so he could _breathe._ Honestly, he'd ask what the hell was wrong with him, but that was too obvious to even waste time thinking about. Better to just accept it for the moment. He might have a problem – he might have several problems – but he was managing and it wasn't affecting anyone other than himself. So he was hiding food – they were rich now, probably, and it wasn't as if there was a shortage.

Besides, he wasn't the only one. Sometime before dawn, when he'd been awake for...a couple of days...he found himself stealing Klaus' favourite chair in the Games Room. There was a tangle of yarn thrown haphazardly across the arms and, he realised after he'd been sitting for a while, an uncomfortable lump down the side of the cushion. When he dug it out he found two bags of chips (one half eaten) three granola bars and two squishy bananas, all wrapped up in a plastic bag. For a moment he stared at it, panic-stricken at the thought that he might be losing his mind and have secreted this away and then forgotten all about it, but he would never have left half-eaten food lying around, let alone anything fresh. No, this wasn't his stash – this was Klaus'.

He took a long drink from his gin and tonic and considered. It made sense, after all. Klaus had spent most of his adult life living on the streets. No doubt he'd gone through long periods of food insecurity. Hoarding was probably habitual. And it did explain why Luther had been quite so obsessed with food going missing – if there was two of them taking stuff no doubt their groceries were vanishing alarmingly quickly. He considered feeling guilty about that for a moment then mentally shrugged. Eh, not his problem. 

He did go and track down Klaus though, after filling his glass up with gin, finding him lying beneath a sofa in the sitting room, his khaki vest wrapped tight around him as he stared up at the ceiling. He didn't react when Five walked in. 

“Are you alright?” 

No answer. 

There was a noise behind him and Five whirled round to see a rubber ball rolling across the bar. Oh. “Hi, Ben. How are you doing?” 

He didn't get an audible response but he hadn't been expecting one. Klaus and Ben had been practising consistently but making Ben corporeal – and audible – was still a struggle. They'd had more success letting Ben interact with physical objects, which, functionally, meant that it wasn't that unusual to see books or other small objects floating around the house. The sound Diego had made when he'd walked through the front door to be confronted with a stuffed unicorn flying round his head was something Five was going to treasure for a very long time. 

Acknowledging Ben was about as much as he could hope to do without Klaus' cooperation, so he turned back to his other brother. He was so still, lying on his back, just like he had been when Five had found him all those years ago. He drained his glass. “I can see you're awake. Say something.” 

The ball bounced across the room, crashing hard into the floor at his feet, between him and Klaus and the noise cut through him and he was jumping before he knew it, reappearing with his back flat against the wall as his glass smashed across the floor where he'd been. 

Klaus had moved as well, curling up with his arms flung over his head in an obviously habitual move of self-protection. There was an obvious tremble running through him and Five dropped down to his knees beside him, trying to reach out and immediately drawing back his shaking hand. It was...touching was a bad idea. For Klaus' sake, obviously, not just for him. He didn't know how it would be received, didn't want his brother to spiral any further into panic.

“There's nothing to be scared of,” he said instead, and he'd done this thousands of times before for himself, throwing reassuring words against the darkness and the smoke and the silence. “It's not real. You can do this. You just need to keep it together. You're stronger than this. It's not real, none of it's real - “

The rubber ball impacted heavily against the side of his head. “Ow! What the hell, Ben?” Wait. A terrible thought occurred to him. “ _Are_ you Ben?” He couldn't think why Klaus would have summoned another ghost, especially a hostile one, but powers could be a bitch and accidentally conjuring an angry spirit wasn't any more unlikely than getting stuck in the apocalypse. Or causing the apocalypse. 

“Yeah. 's Ben,” Klaus said, sitting up, and the way his eyeliner was smeared was almost enough to hide the heavy bags under his eyes. 

“Then why is he throwing things at me?” he demanded. 

Klaus' eyes flickered to the side – to where Ben was standing, presumably – and then looked back at Five with a half-decent attempt at his usual smirk. “Aw, we all want to throw things at you, Fivey. Ben's just got some catching up to do, that's all.” 

He huffed and considered just jumping away – all he'd got out of this encounter was abuse and a painful adrenaline surge, after all – but he remembered that pathetic little pile of food squirrelled away in the Game Room, and he remembered the sight of his brother, curled up and afraid, and he took a deep breath. “Are you alright?” 

“Oooh, is that concern?” Klaus laid a dramatic hand against his heart. “Well I never. I'm _flattered,_ really. What can I possibly have done to deserve you being concerned about little me?” 

Irritation flooded through him. His head was pounding. He was trying to be  _nice._ “You never had to do anything for me to be concerned about you,” he snapped, standing up and brushing off his shorts. “Idiot. Come and get some dinner with me.” 

Klaus stood up slowly, swaying slightly. “Ben says it's morning.” 

“Hmph. Ben doesn't know better than to make sudden noises around war veterans. Ben doesn't get a say.” 

“You were in a war?” Klaus asked, and Five would forgive him that particular stupidity since it was clear he wasn't having a good day...or year...or life, now he came to think of it. 

“Never for long enough to call myself a veteran. Or acquire a set of dog tags,” he said, nodding meaningfully to the set Klaus' hand was wrapped around. 

“These aren't actually mine.” 

No. Klaus' dog tags had been found on the body of Private David Katz and, at the explicit request of their squad, had been buried with him. He didn't know how to bring that up. Didn't know whether it would be better to talk about it or leave it alone. There were a lot of things he was keeping close to his chest that he had every intention of leaving alone. Forever. 

As he opened the door he heard Klaus hiss behind him. “Be nice. He's trying.” 

He was trying. What else could he do?

*

Vanya had chosen not to move back into the Academy and once he'd got past his knee-jerk response to want her  _here,_ Five thought that was probably the right decision. Whether she liked it or not she was used to isolation, used to being alone. If a low-stress environment was what she was looking for, then the Umbrella Academy; with all its painful memories of their childhood, with Klaus singing at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night, with Luther yelling about missing food, with an actual bona fide ghost embracing poltergeist-hood; was the very last place she should try and live. Not to mention she still had her career and her own apartment and she understandably wanted to hold onto that life. But she visited several times a week, in between her orchestral duties, both to train her powers and to just reconnect with Five and with Ben and Klaus. 

She was making good progress. They'd found Dad's old notes and while reading them had been predictably awful they had at least given them some good background information – as well as several good ideas of what not to do - and they'd been able to figure out some training exercises to help with her control. 

It wasn't easy. Five barely remembered first learning to control his powers but he did remember the pain and exhaustion. And  _he_ had never been afraid of his powers, they had always been part of him. Vanya was understandably traumatised by hers, and sometimes seemed to treat them as something completely separate from her, outwith her control. He tried his best to practice patience, to insist on breaks when she seemed to be getting overwhelmed, and to talk about things other than training or the academy. 

“You were seeing a therapist for a while, weren't you?” Okay, so not all his conversational choices were well thought out, but at least he'd managed to sound casual. 

“Uh, yes.” Vanya eyed him a little nervously. “I'm actually seeing her again. Once a week. Um. I'm not telling her everything, of course, but it's still helping.” 

“That's good,” he said and meant it. “Is your therapist taking on new patients?” 

“Oh.” She looked at him awkwardly. “I'm not sure if she'd see you, since you're my brother.” 

He blinked, somehow taken aback by the idea that might even be considered an  _option._ “I don't think I'd be a good fit for therapy, to be honest. Actually I was wondering if it might be something Klaus would be interested in.” 

“Oh!” She bit her lip. “Is he...he is doing okay, right? I saw him earlier and he looked exhausted, but he was playing tic-tac-toe on the wall with Ben, so I assumed he hadn't relapsed...Carrie, my therapist, doesn't have a background in substance abuse, but I'm sure she'd be able to recommend someone.” 

He hadn't actually thought of that. Klaus' addiction problems were surprisingly low down the list of reasons Five was worrying about him. He shrugged. “Maybe. He's doing alright. I just think he could be doing better.” Like leaving the house, talking to other people, sleeping and eating regularly, not hiding food away in case the world ended or his siblings stopped letting him eat, or however he was justifying it in his head – if he was even thinking about it at all. 

Vanya gave him a tiny smile. “I think we could all be doing better, right?” 

True.

The walls seemed to shake as Luther bellowed from somewhere downstairs. “ _Would you all stop leaving doors open? They need to be closed_ !” 

He smirked. “If he thinks he's going to make this place fuel efficient he's out of luck. It must cost a fortune to heat.” 

“That's probably why Dad never bothered.” 

They both laughed. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey, please let me know what you think.


End file.
